


Demons, Mysteries, and Feathery Celestialness

by ShepherdSoreyDidNothingWrong (Sagnessagiel)



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Action, Adventure, Angels, Blood, Cops, General silliness and tension, General weaponry, Guns, Injury, Knives, M/M, Mystery, SormikBigBang2019, Swords, Those silly boys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-08 03:41:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21469480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sagnessagiel/pseuds/ShepherdSoreyDidNothingWrong
Summary: Sorey is a cop. When his current case turns out to involve elements both demonic and angelic, he suddenly finds himself both in over his head and with a new partner. Neither he nor the angel Mikleo are particularly happy to be saddled with each other. Can they work through their differences to solve the case?An entry for the Sormik Big Bang 2019.
Relationships: Mikleo/Sorey (Tales of Zestiria), Rose & Sorey (Tales of Zestiria)
Comments: 33
Kudos: 47
Collections: Sormik Big Bang 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Artists: Vonderer, Oliverniko (artworks in later chapters)  
Betas: Whitedarkangel, Treya-barton
> 
> Find them all on tumblr <3

A gunshot rings out like thunder striking. Sorey dives for cover before he can finish his thought. 

At once, the warehouse bursts into chaos and noise as people dive away from each other and reach for their own firearms. This is not what he planned on, but he can still make it work. 

It is not the first firefight he takes part in, but still makes his stomach sink as a bullet flies past his head and collides with a wooden box behind him. He sits leaned up against a crate of fish and wonders how the conversation turned so sour so quickly. 

More shots ring in his ears. He has three people pinned down against five or so smugglers, provided there are no others hiding in the building. He stands up on his knees and throws a quick glance over the crate, tipping up his gun and firing twice before ducking down again. He hears a noise like a yelp, but one of surprise rather than fear. He was close, but not enough to injure. 

He glances to the side and spots Mason hiding behind another crate. Mason winks at him, and Sorey shakes his head. This is not the time to dive in, much less the time to make a game out of it. 

Mason gestures towards the path behind him, then a rounded one that Sorey saw on the way in. He wants to try to sneak around and ambush one of the smugglers. Sorey shakes his head again, signalling that there are too many of them. Mason waves a dismissive hand, and Sorey almost rolls his eyes, but then Mason springs. 

In the next moment, he has stood up on his knees and fired his gun over the edge of a crate, not towards the smugglers but towards the ceiling. There is a sharp _ clang _as the bullet bites into metal far above them, and Mason fires again. Sorey looks up just in time to see a chain split in two and release a metal box that hung above them moments prior. 

Both Sorey and Mason capitalise on the confusion that comes with the box slamming into the floor. Moving in sync, they stand up and fire their guns. Sorey clips a smuggler in the leg while Mason hits another one in the arm. Then, as one, they sit down again before anyone can rally and aim for them in return. That makes two out of five, and as Sorey falls to the floor again, he sees Lee glancing out from behind a steel beam. Lee takes the opportunity and fires two shots, and Sorey raises an impressed eyebrow as he hears another pained yell. 

That makes three, and enough that they can take a risk or two. He locks eyes with Mason and nods once. Mason grins at him.

Sorey settles in and fires a few blind shots to keep the fight going. They have to think of a plan. He is still bothered by the fact that this went south without so much as a cough for warning. It was definitely planned, but what tipped them off? Or is something else going on?

His thoughts are interrupted by someone shouting and he turns to see that Mason has disappeared. Lee steps out from behind his beam and aims his gun steadily. Sorey stands up to do the same. 

He comes face to face with the smuggler he negotiated with, a gun aimed firmly at his own chest in turn. 

“It’s over, Lukas,” he shouts. “We’ve got you pinned.”

Lukas meets his eyes and there is a steel there that Sorey recognises well. It will take more than intimidation to get him to back down. He needs to be well and truly cornered, and that is not the case just yet. 

“Not yet,” Lukas shouts back. His eyes flit briefly to Lee and back. Sorey takes a step around the crate, then another. 

“Surrender and we can work something out,” he says. “You’re not in trouble yet, and all we need is information.”

They did not get far enough in the conversation that he has any proof to pin to Lukas. Threatening a cop, however, he might be able to get some leverage out of. 

“Sorry, detective, but I’m not interested.” Lukas smiles. “And I have other meetings to get to.”

Sorey continues to advance. In his periphery he sees Mason with Lukas’ right hand man pinned firmly on the ground. Behind him, he can hear Lee’s footsteps.

Lukas backs up. They are getting too close. Sorey had barely a moment to take in all the entrances and exits as he entered the warehouse, but he knows that Lukas is moving towards a door. He suspects that he will find out soon where it leads. 

“Freeze, Lukas. I won’t tell you twice.”

“No need,” Lukas says, and bolts. 

Sorey curses under his breath. He holsters his gun and takes off after Lukas with a brief shout of “Cuff them!” to Lee and Mason. Lukas throws open the door and disappears from view. Sorey practically flies after him. 

The door leads outside, as he learns in the next instant. The port is scarcely crowded, but there are enough people milling around that Sorey briefly loses sigh of him. When he spots him again, Lukas is already turning a corner. 

Sorey runs after him and almost skids off course and over the railing towards the water as he follows. He clutches onto it to stop and scans the crowd for Lukas. Though he spots him quickly, running after him will be a challenge as this is a street with more people in the way. 

Two men sprinting through the street may be an unusual sight, but Ladylake is a big city. Barely anyone notices their hurrying, and he just about crashes into several people trying to weave past them. He follows Lukas into an alley and then out onto a dock on the other side. It is a fishing dock, and thus empty of any boats that might take Lukas away. Sorey wonders if he actually got lost and cornered. He runs faster to catch up, and before Lukas can reach the end of the dock, Sorey tackles him, sending them both crashing into the hard wood. 

They land with an unceremonious set of grunts. Sorey sits up and pins him firmly, fumbling for his handcuffs. 

“Lukas Noh,” he says, groaning when Lukas elbows him in the gut. “You’re under arres-”

Suddenly there is a feeling like a rope being drawn around his throat. He realises as he is lifted forcibly off Lukas that his shirt is being pulled tightly and digging into his windpipe. He tries to draw a breath, to gasp, but the cloth tightens and he chokes. He is brought in this way to his feet and turned around, and then he is face to face with Lukas’ right hand man from the warehouse. Sorey never caught his name. 

The man is larger than both Lukas and Sorey by a lot, but it seemed to Sorey as though Mason had him under control back in the warehouse. Even as the hold on his shirt loosens enough to let him breath, Sorey’s chest seizes in panic. Mason. 

Because what catches his eye first is not the broad shoulders or the rough cut of the man’s jaw, or the forehead that looks like it could crack Sorey’s skull without so much as a bruise. It is the man’s eyes. Back at the warehouse, they were a deep brown. Now that, along with the sclera, is gone and replaced with a flat, soulless black colour. 

Sorey’s heart leaps into his throat. He has only a split second to gather his wits before he is hauled into the air and punched in the chest. His breath is knocked out of him and he lands on his shoulder on the dock. There is a cracking sound, and he cries out as a sharp pain flares up his arm and shoulder. 

There is shouting and the rough thunder of footsteps on the dock. He looks up to see civilians fleeing in all directions. The demon has turned his back on him to scare them off. Sorey’s vision swims. He must have hit his head too. 

He has seen demons maybe once or twice in his life. Never in person, but he saw them on TV when he was little. They were all brief clips and images, blurred shots of people lifting up cars and throwing them as though they were made hollow plastic. Then the second after, when the motion was too quick to keep from blurring, as they turned to the cameras and dove for the people behind them. Demons are a thing to fear, and he has enough sense to try to crawl away while this one still has its back turned to him. 

He gets a pace or two before slow footsteps approach him. He drags himself towards sitting up, but a foot on his ribs tips him over again. He groans as he lands on the injured arm. 

The smuggler kicks him in the ribs, hard enough to roll him a few more paces. Another sickening crack, and all the air leaves his lungs. He wheezes and startles as his hand suddenly connects with empty air instead of landing on the dock. He looks down and sees the sparkling surface of the lake just three feet beneath his face. 

He cannot get his breath back, and panic starts to set in. Again the boot touches him, gently this time, and he is powerless to stop the gentle push that sends him falling off the edge of the dock. He looks up in time to see black eyes glinting as he tips off the edge. 

Finally he sucks in a breath, but it is more of a reaction than any forethought to falling in the water. 

The water is a shock to his system. The cold sears the skin of his injured arm and clashes with the ache within it. He writhes and cries out without thinking, and the air in his lungs leaves him in a cloud of bubbles that quickly abandons him to his fate. 

He has to swim, has to get back to safety, but neither his arms nor his legs will obey his commands. He manages to reach out only to curl up in pain as a feeling like lightning shoots through his shoulder and chest. Vision blurring, he looks towards the surface. 

There are shadows far above him. Silhouettes that cut like knives through the glittering sunlight on the surface. He imagines one moving closer, hopes that he is right. 

Numbness sets in and he closes his eyes. The surface fades from view, and he is alone in the darkness. 


	2. Chapter 2

The sound of humming stirs him into waking. 

Sorey opens his eyes slowly to see a pair of knees close to his face. When he looks up, he sees a flash of red hair and blue eyes turn to meet his. He lets out a breath, relieved. 

Rose is instantly upon him, feeling his forehead with cold fingers. 

“Sorey! Are you okay? Can you hear me?”

Sorey nods. When he opens his mouth, he expects some difficulty speaking, but instead the word rings clear. 

“Fine.”

It takes him a moment, but he realises in the next instant that he actually does feel okay. There is no discomfort besides a dull ache in his chest. His fingers flex and he moves to sit up, utterly confused over how little of his body protests the sudden motion. His arm feels fine, though the memory of the sharp, aching pain makes him shiver. It was definitely real. But why is it gone?

Rose watches him like a hawk as he looks around, taking in the break room of the LCPD precinct. He is not in a hospital, nowhere near one in fact. His confusion is only mounting. 

Sorey has good enough instincts to know that something is very, very wrong here. Were he less sure that his Heaven would be something other than the precinct, he might think himself dead and gone there, but the ache in his chest and the fact that no Heaven of his would ever include that atrocity of a coffee machine tell him firmly otherwise. He looks up and meets Rose’s eyes. 

“What happened?”

If nothing else, the fact that Rose is utterly speechless now tells him that something has definitely changed in the time he was unconscious. She looks at him as though she has seen a ghost, and with her that means more than just the expression. 

“You’re sure you’re fine?” She croaks, as though her voice is fading. 

“I think so?” Sorey says, unable to keep the irritation out of his voice. “What happened on the dock?” He startles as he remembers. “Is Mason okay? Is Lee?”

Rose’s hands are on his shoulders, and he realises that he was halfway up and out of the couch. Rose practically forces him to sit back down and looks into his eyes. 

“Sorey, I need you to stay calm. Mason and Lee are fine. They’re out in the bullpen. I need you to listen to me.”

He sits down and stares at her. He cannot remember the last time he saw Rose look so scared. Perhaps he never has. It shuts him up quite effectively. 

“There was a demon,” Rose says, and Sorey remembers glinting black eyes. “It attacked you and threw you off the dock. A fisherman got you out of the water and you were being rushed to the hospital.”

Sorey glances behind her head at the break room. Something definitely happened to change that plan. 

“We were getting the call about it when this guy just appeared in the door with you. He took you in here and told us to keep everyone else out. I was about to arrest him but then he started glowing.”

Sorey blinks. That was not what he expected to hear, though he is not entirely sure what was. He is just about to interject, call her on messing with him, but she still looks so  _ scared.  _

“Sorey, he-” Rose swallows hard, almost unable to get the words out. “He said he was an angel.”

Sorey feels as though he has lost touch with reality. This cannot be what is happening right now. He must have hit his head really hard on that dock, or maybe he really did dream all of it. 

“Rose,” he says. She stares at him. “Rose, he was not an angel.”

She blinks, confused, but then her eyes are wild again. “No, Sorey, you didn’t see it. His eyes were glowing and he touched you and the wound on your head closed. There’s no broken bones in your shoulder anymore. I don’t know what he is, but he isn’t human.”

He is unsure what to say to her then. Rose has always been one for humour, but he never expected this of her. He steadfastly ignores the sinking feeling in his stomach as he speaks. 

“Rose, this isn’t funny. I just almost died. Tell me what’s actually happening.”

There is a sort of panic in her eyes as she says, “I am. I promise, I am.”

Sorey draws a deep breath. It hurts to do so. 

“Did you hit your head too?” He will not accept angelic intervention as an explanation. He will not. 

“Sorey, please. Come with me to Boris’ office.” Rose stands up and offers him her hand. “I don’t know how to explain this to you otherwise.”

Her voice is uncharacteristically tense. There is not a trace of deception in her wide eyes. Sorey stares into her eyes for a long moment. Then he stands up on his own. 

He does not walk through the station so much as storm through it. Confused officers leave his path left and right, they have never seen him so visibly irritable. He is quite tired of this now, and doesn’t find it funny. Rose trails after him hesitantly. 

He reaches the captain’s office in minutes and practically rips the door open. This is unusual for him, but he feels justified in it. 

“Will someone tell me what is going on?”

He comes face to face with a seated Boris Strelka. The captain sits behind his desk, a letter in his hands that he looked up from as Sorey stormed in. Sorey notices immediately that his face is unusually pale. 

“Sorey,” he says, his voice faint. “You’re alright.”

The sinking feeling worsens but he pushes it away. He has no idea the extent of his injuries, no clue on how they would manifest now. It does not mean that he was healed by an angel. 

“Fine, captain. Now, will you tell me what happened out on that dock? Why am I here? What happened to the demon?”

“It disappeared.”

It is not Boris who answers him. Sorey turns his head at the sound to see a man standing beside Boris’ desk. Were he less focused upon entering, he might have seen him right away. The man is a little shorter than Sorey himself, slender and sharp in his figure, but Sorey is immediately drawn to his eyes. 

They are a pale purple colour, clear and stony, but there is something in them that draws the sinking feeling kicking and clawing from the depths of his mind. Sorey stares at him blankly, so the man continues.

“After you fell in the water, everyone present either ran away or prioritised getting you out. This let the demon and his employer escape unseen. They slipped away into the city as I was rescuing you.”

Sorey points at him and opens his mouth, fully prepared to argue, but this is already so bizarre. Besides the annoyance he feels at the flippant tone, coupled with the fact that the man’s expression is completely calm, the phrase “the demon and his employer” is properly short circuiting him. The man approaches, and Sorey stands flabbergasted as he comes to take the hand pointed towards him. He clasps it in his own, turning an annoyed gesture into an involuntary handshake, and Sorey startles. 

The touch sends something like a static shock into him, prickly and warm. It spreads to the rest of him, a tingly feeling that makes him feel as though he is floating. He has no time to react. 

“Oh,” the man says, almost disinterested. “Seems I missed some.”

His eyes flash with bright light, and the warmth concentrates around his chest. Then it heats up, turning just shy of burning. All of it happens in less than a second. 

Sorey yelps and pulls away. He backs up a few steps, but the man remains where he stands. Sorey gasps a breath, realises faintly that it does not hurt to do so anymore. 

“You should not breathe in so much water next time. It will drown you eventually even when you’re back on land.”

Sorey stares. Boris stares. Rose stares. The man tilts his head, and there is no hint of a smirk on his face. It is all in his eyes. 

“We have not properly met. I am Mikleo of Heaven, and I am here to help you.”


	3. Chapter 3

“How,” Sorey asks, “is an angel even here in the first place?”

Boris sets the paper down on his desk. His fingers are steepled over it, and he seems to weigh his words. 

“I’m still learning that myself,” he says. “Mikleo was just explaining it to me. He was sent here with this letter.” He holds up the paper. “It’s from the Oracle.”

That sentence hangs between them, heavy with absurdity. Sorey blinks. 

“The Oracle?” he asks, incredulous. “The Oracle sent you a letter?”

“The Oracle sent me a letter,” Boris agrees, waving it as though that will alleviate the confusion in the room. “He wants Mikleo here to help you, and I quote, “vanquish the demons that have invaded the city”.” He reads it off the letter verbatim. Then he gestures helplessly to it. “It came with a call from the prime minister to accompany it. He really is supposed to help.”

“Since when are angels even allowed on Earth?” Sorey asks.

It is Mikleo who answers him. “The demon you encountered is a symptom of a larger operation that Heaven has kept their eyes on for some time. It is too dangerous for you to face alone, and so the Oracle requested to send me to help.”

“Requested.” Sorey stares at him flatly. “Heaven requests nothing. I don’t know if you remember what happened the last time you were down here, but it didn’t end well.”

Mikleo tilts his head a fraction. It is the only part of an expression on his face, but it unsettles Sorey for some reason. It brings to mind the image of a snake coiling to strike, quiet and dangerous. 

“The conflict between Hyland and Rolance was six hundred years ago.” His voice is cold now, strict in a way that rubs Sorey the entirely wrong way. “You consider yourselves evolved since then. Are we not allowed the same courtesy?”

“Are you?” Sorey asks, just as firm. “I don’t remember Heaven subscribing to the idea of evolution.”

Rose makes an amused sound behind him. Sorey and Mikleo glare at each other. Well, Sorey glares. 

He suspects that the lack of body language in Mikleo has to do with his vessel being unfamiliar. He does not want to think about how Mikleo is even here, or who could be in there with him, but it is difficult to disconnect the physical entirely from the intent. Mikleo shows who he is in the sharp lines of the face he chose, the sleek white suit that gives him a professional appearance. His vessel has soft curly hair that he has been unable to tame into a complete ponytail, and the juxtaposition is quite jarring against his sharp eyes. 

“We can grow just as you can,” Mikleo says. “I’m not here to fight with you, and I wasn’t a part of the war. I’m just here to do a job.”

“You’re not here to do anything with me,” Sorey says. He turns to Boris, and it feels like taking his eyes off a natural predator. “I’m not working with an angel.”

Boris looks at him in a way that is part helpless and part still incredulous over the whole situation. 

“I can’t actually do anything about this, Sorey. The commissioner and the prime minister are both really spooked by the footage of what happened to you on the docks. They don’t believe we can deal with this on our own.”

Sorey is not sure they can deal with it on their own either. 

“It doesn’t matter. There has to be a better solution than this.” He gestures in Mikleo’s direction. 

“Sorey,” Rose says from the doorway. “We should talk about what we can do, at least.”

It is surely not intentional on their part, but the disagreement from all angles is making him feel cornered and surrounded. He breathes deep and tries not to let his emotions get the better of him. This situation is turning into more than he can handle. 

He is not sure what he was expecting when he walked into this room. Waking up, perhaps, or an admission that this was all some form of elaborate prank, but this is too much, too overwhelming, and he has to get out of it. 

“The accords don’t allow angels on Earth,” he says, his voice calmer now by sheer effort. “How is he supposed to cruise around the city with a police officer in tow?”

“This is an agreement above the jurisdiction of the accords,” Mikleo says. “I am allowed here by your governing body on a number of conditions.”

“Such as?”

“I may show myself to no one,” Mikleo says, and there is a note of irritation in his voice as he lists them. “I have been sworn to harm no innocents and to stay close to a human partner on Earth. I am not allowed out of the sight of the police department.”

Sorey narrows his eyes. “Did they call it innocents?”

Mikleo blinks. “Pardon?”

“What oath did you swear exactly?”

There is a long moment of silence as they look each other in the eyes. Boris watches them both with rapt interest, while Rose looks more and more nervous in the doorway. 

“I swore to harm no one that need not be harmed,” Mikleo says. “I needed that concession to be able to complete the mission.”

Satisfied, Sorey turns to Boris again. 

“I’m not working with an angel, and you shouldn’t let anyone else do it either.” After a moment of thought, he says “Fire me if you want. I don’t care.”

With those as his final words, he strides past Rose and out the door amidst protests from both her and Boris. He closes it behind him and continues down the hall without looking back.

* * *

He intends to head straight home and get some rest. Pain or no, the exhaustion that comes with almost drowning still lingers after being healed. He gets halfway to his car before a shout of his name stops him in his tracks. 

For some reason, he feels almost impressed that Mikleo is actually capable of raising his voice, but mostly he feels annoyed and angry that this is still happening. Still, he turns to face the angel walking towards him through the lot. 

“I don’t understand,” Mikleo says, and that surprises him a lot, actually. He had expected a firmer response, the threat of holy fire perhaps. But Sorey has had enough of this conversation.

Instead of any of the sarcasm that pops into his head, he voices the thought that sits like a lump of burning coal in the back of his mind. 

“Whose body are you wearing right now?”

Mikleo stops short. He blinks. 

“What?”

“Your face.” He gestures to it, and Mikleo’s eyes follow his hand. “It’s not yours, so whose is it?” Did you manipulate them into saying yes, or were they just really into the idea of possession? Are they a holy soldier of the Oracle?”

Mikleo’s mouth opens. “I-”

“You know,” Sorey says, scathing. “I wasn’t part of the Hyland-Rolance fight either, but I’m still capable of reading a history book. Angels on Earth means a clash of certain core values that always ends up screwing over the human side of the deal. That’s why I’m not interested in working with you.”

He turns with a sense of triumph at having at least won the argument, if not kept his job. Now, as he walks away, Mikleo only watches him silently. 


	4. Chapter 4

He wakes up the next morning with the vague hope that perhaps this was all a dream after all. The seven texts and three missed calls on his phone tell him otherwise. 

Boris is resigned in his tone, but he does not want to fire Sorey. That much is evident. Sadly, he suspects that might be out of Boris’ hands. 

But he can return to the precinct to talk it through. After everything they have been through, the least he owes Boris and Rose is an explanation of why he is so adamant on this. It means a lot more to him than it does them, he suspects, and he should tell them why that is. 

He does not expect to see Mikleo at all when he comes to the precinct that morning, but there he is standing at the top of the steps by the glass double doors. Curious officers pass him by as they enter, but no one stops to talk to him. Sorey cannot blame them. There is something about Mikleo even at first glance that sets him apart as unsettling. Looking him in the eyes is harder than doing so with others. 

Sorey considers turning the car around and driving back out of the parking lot, but he pulls it into a free space and approaches with heavy steps. For Boris, he thinks. 

Mikleo fixes him with laser-like focus. He descends down the steps with determination in his eyes and meets Sorey halfway at the edge of the parking lot. 

“I need you to listen to me,” he says. 

This is too much to deal with while running on no coffee. “Force me, then,” Sorey says and keeps walking. It does not surprise him when Mikleo reaches out and grabs his arm, but it does provoke him just a little bit. As he glares, he notes that this grip is much gentler than the one he had on Sorey while healing him the other day. 

“I’ve been sworn to harm no one if I can help it,” Mikleo says. Sorey can see the determination in his eyes. He wonders whose they really are. 

Sorey takes his time to lean into Mikleo’s space, wary of the creature he knows is hiding in there and yet reckless enough to try to posture to it as though he has any power to fight it. Voice low, he says, “Your definition of whether or not you can help it is very different from mine.”

They have all heard of the war. The holy conflict where Heaven recruited humans to its noble cause and then used them for cannon fodder. Mikleo might not have been there (but then, there is nothing that says that an angel cannot lie), but he knows it as well as Sorey. His eyes flash with something unknown, but it definitely means he knows. His expression, however, remains as blank as it did in Boris’ office. 

“I realise that,” Mikleo says. 

That stops Sorey short, as it is perhaps the last thing he ever expected to come out of his mouth at that moment. Mikleo plows on, and the sincerity in his voice is throwing Sorey. 

“I realise that you don’t trust me and I know following my own judgment won’t change that, but I need someone who knows this case to find this demon quickly. You’re my best shot at that.”

Sorey stares blankly at him. “What do I have to say to get it through your head that I don’t trust you? Why do you care so much about this?”

That last question has been nagging him since last night when he got home. Mikleo is an angel, and angels have never worried about the potential loss of human life. If Heaven was truly scared of this demon, nothing Sorey says would stop Mikleo from tearing through the city and destroying it along with any humans that happen to be in the way. What is this sudden investment in keeping the peace between two dimensions that have barely spoken for centuries?

Mikleo says nothing at first, and if he squints, Sorey can actually imagine some conflict in his eyes. He glances to the side, and Sorey suddenly becomes aware of all the people passing them as they head from their cars to the precinct. Their staring is not subtle, and Mikleo seems concerned.

“Please come with me,” Mikleo says, and before Sorey can argue, he has walked past him and towards Sorey’s car at the end of the lot. Sorey considers just going to the precinct, curiosity be damned. 

He turns and follows Mikleo as subtly as he can. No one dares to follow them. 

Mikleo leads him to the end of the lot and beyond it, and for a moment he worries that he is going to take him into the city on some wild chase, but then he stops in between some trees where the lot borders a park. It is well shaded and hidden from most of the lot and the precinct. He has a bad feeling about this. 

“Give me your hand,” Mikleo says. 

“I’m not doing that,” Sorey says. He still remembers the burning feeling from yesterday. It scared him, even as he tries not to put too much thought into what healing on his own would have been like. 

“I’m not going to hurt you, Sorey.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t know what the hell your plan is here, but I’m not crouching with you in a bush. I didn’t come here to talk to you.”

He is thinking better of it already and turning to walk away when Mikleo says, voice raised, “There’s no one in here with me.”

He stops in his tracks. He can see the double doors of the precinct in the distance, even as the trees shade him fairly well from view. He closes his eyes, weighing his decision. 

A moment passes, and he turns back to Mikleo. 

“What?”

Mikleo’s hands are clasped before him. Were he more prone to body language, he might be wringing them anxiously. “There’s no one in here with me. I’m possessing an empty vessel.”

Sorey looks him slowly up and down. Even as he knows that the sight of him will give nothing away, sheer disbelief dictates the action. 

“I tracked down his personal heaven,” Mikleo continues, bearing the scrutiny. “I told him what I intend to do, and I asked him if he would give his consent. He is…” Mikleo’s eyes drop, just for a second, to Sorey’s shoes. “He was a holy soldier of Heaven, back in the conflict.”

There is a moment of silence between them as Sorey takes that in. Suddenly the anger returns, bigger and stronger.”

“If you think-”

“I will swear an oath to you too.”

Mikleo’s voice is firm, but something in his eyes is different. It actually stops Sorey short. He shakes his head in disbelief. 

“What?”

Mikleo draws in a breath, and there is actual apprehension in his posture. It is entirely throwing Sorey. This is new ground, and he feels unsafe on it. 

“I will swear to you to follow your judgment on what constitutes necessary harm. You will have the final say, and I will be unable to go against it.”

Mikleo steps closer and holds out his hands. “I will need your hand to swear it. I will name the terms, and if you disagree, then you need only say no.”

Sorey’s head is officially swimming. He knows what an angel oath is, what Mikleo is promising him here, and it is the last thing he expected out of this exchange. It is the last thing he expected out of Mikleo. He looks from the outstretched hands to those amethyst eyes and asks, “Why do you care so much about this?”

Mikleo’s expression does not change, but there is an obvious question in his silence, and so Sorey says, “Why do you need me at all for this? Why go to these lengths when you can just destroy the city with the demon in it?”

Mikleo’s eyes flit between his. Sorey has never seen an uncertain angel before - hardly ever seen one at all, in fact - and it only grows stranger with each passing second. 

“I was under the impression that neither of us wanted that,” he says. 

It is such a simple, blunt answer, and yet it tells him absolutely nothing. He has to admire the complexity of that. 

“I can’t give you more than that, Sorey,” Mikleo says. “But is it not enough?”

To trust him? No, but to give considering this another shot? It does sound safer than any solution Sorey had in mind. Most of them involved trying to follow him as he went about the case with someone else and basically attacking if he did something violent, while others hypothetically ended with another war on Earth. Here Mikleo is offering him the option of least violence, and Oracle help him, he has to consider it. 

“So you’ll swear an oath to me that I have the final say on who gets hurt?”

“Yes.”

“And you can’t go against it?”

“Yes.”

“That’s not something angels do.”

“Sorey.” 

Mikleo’s eyes flash, and now Sorey begins to see something like annoyance in them. 

“I am putting my safety in your hands. This oath will mete out consequences if I don’t follow your judgment. I am offering this so that we can solve this as quickly and safely as possible, but I will need some trust in return from you.”

Sorey frowns. “And what is it you need me to trust?”

“That I am telling you the truth,” Mikleo says. “I am not here to trick or manipulate you. I am here to address a threat, and even if I can’t tell you why I need it solved, I am telling you the whole truth on how I intend to solve it.”

Mikleo looks into his eyes. “Can you trust me on that?”

Can he?

Sorey watches as Mikleo stretches out his hand, cautious, as though worried of scaring off an already spooked animal. He looks up at those determined eyes again and makes a decision. 

Firmly, without hesitance, he takes Mikleo’s hand. To his surprise, Mikleo hesitates for a beat. Then he places his other hand on top of Sorey’s. 

Sorey is unsure what to expect, but he is braced and prepared to flinch at the first sign of more burning heat. It does not come, but something else happens. 

A brand forms on his skin. At first it is just a pulse of light but then it takes shape into a symbol he does not recognise. He is about to panic and pull away when the same thing forms on the back of Mikleo’s hand. Then Mikleo speaks.

“I swear to you that I will follow your judgment on the matter of harm to anyone, human or otherwise, while on Earth. I will cause it to no one unless you agree that it is absolutely necessary.”

Sorey swallows. He listens closely. 

“This oath will hold for as long as I am on Earth,” Mikleo says. Then he looks at Sorey. 

“Do you accept?”

Sorey draws a deep breath and says, “I have some terms.”

He expects Mikleo to protest, to reveal that this was actually a trap, but Mikleo says, resolute, “Name them.”

“Stay close to me,” Sorey says. “While you’re on Earth, unless I say otherwise. I want to keep an eye on you. And your oath will last until the case is over, not until you return to Heaven.”

There is a beat of hesitation again, and then Mikleo says, “I accept them. They will be part of my oath.”

He turns their hands so that both marks are well visible and says “So it shall be.” Sorey watches in amazement as the marks fade. It stings a bit, and he twitches instinctively out of Mikleo’s grip. 

Mikleo regards him carefully. 

“Will you work with me then?” he asks. 

Sorey turns his hand this way and that, checking for any signs of discolouration or angelic sabotage. Nothing looks strange. He is the same as he was. He smiles slightly, nervously. 

“I will,” he says, and tries to ignore the worry settling in his stomach. When Mikleo reaches out a hand this time, he is prepared to take it. He draws in a deep breath, steadying himself. 

It looks as though he will get to keep his job after all. 


	5. Chapter 5

Sorey will give credit to Boris - he takes it well for how much of a surprise it must be to see them walking into his office together. It quickly becomes clear that he was hoping against hope for this. When he asks, Sorey tells him the truth - that he has a better chance at keeping this solution under control. For reasons unknown to himself, he does not want to tell him the whole truth of what happened off the side of the parking lot. Something about it felt private, between the two of them. 

He tells Boris that he can point the inevitable destruction in the right direction. Mikleo looks at him, but there is no visible expression in his eyes. 

It feels all sorts of odd to guide Mikleo to his office to retrieve the materials he will need for a case briefing. What follows is the most awkward car ride Sorey has ever been a part of. All he can think about is the fact that an angel sits in his passenger seat. 

Mikleo says nothing for the first twenty minutes of the ride. He has a case file in his lap, turning the page far quicker than anyone should be able to read. Sorey wonders whether he is skimming or actually reading it, and that leads to curiosity about how angel memory works. That then takes a turn down a lane of how many times he has read that angels are immortal, and he wonders how old Mikleo actually is. 

His racing thoughts are the first, and perhaps clearest, indication of how odd this case will be for him. They are put to a stop when Mikleo turns to him and speaks. 

“Is this the lead then?”

Sorey barely has the time to glance his way and see a picture pinned to the file before Mikleo says, “Maxwell Lunarre?”

Sorey turns back to the road, grateful for the familiar territory. 

“That’s right. Lunarre’s a contact of the assassin’s guild Lukas likes to bother for contracts once in a while. They never accept them, but Lukas is stubborn. He’ll contact them again.”

“Why do they turn down his offers?” Mikleo asks. Sorey finds himself listening closely for any tone in his voice. 

Besides the whole situation throwing him for a loop, he finds himself hard pressed to really interpret Mikleo’s body language, on account of there not being much there to interpret. The result now is that he cannot tell whether Mikleo reciprocates the slight annoyance he still feels. After so vehemently disagreeing with this course of action, getting talked into it draws out his inner toddler just slightly, and he still feels a little wound up. 

Logically, any human that he would have with him would probably feel similarly, perhaps annoyed with him for being so stubborn, but Mikleo gives no indication of either annoyance or relief. He just continues to read the file. 

Sorey says the first thing that comes to mind, which is the usual “Oracle knows”. Then he immediately regrets it as Mikleo’s eyes turn on him again.

“The Oracle?” His eyebrows actually draw into a tiny frown. “You want me to-”

“No,” Sorey says quickly, because now this is turning very bizarre. “No, it’s just an expression. It means we don’t know the answer.”

Mikleo blinks, a slow movement that seems to have more thought behind it than it should. After three seconds of silence, he apparently decides to just let that slide. 

“Who is he trying to get a contract for then?”

“Me,” Sorey says. “No doubt he wants us all off his trail, and making an example of the person who’s getting close is the best way to do that.”

A long silence follows that statement. The way Mikleo flicks through the file seems unbothered, but there is really no telling what he thinks. 

Without any indication of what the mood in the car is, Sorey is left stumbling over every awkward silence. Without a clear mood, it is difficult to tell which parts of the conversation need following up. It makes him a little nervous to speak at all, but he has rarely ever let something like that stop him. He gathers his thoughts, the ones that have been swimming in his head since he agreed to the oath, and sifts out the questions. 

“So I have a question,” he says. He waits a few seconds for Mikleo to look up and then finishes lamely, “Since you’re an angel and all.”

Another slow blink. Then Mikleo says, “I am.”

It sounds a little bit like an invitation to continue, though also like plain confusion, but that is better than an outright rejection.

“You said you weren’t in the battle,” he says. “Is this your first time on Earth then?”

Mikleo stares at him for long enough that he catches on to the latter’s suspicion, and he amends, “It’s a good thing to know for the case.”

“Yes,” Mikleo says flatly. “It is my first time on Earth.”

“And in a vessel?” Sorey asks. 

“Yes.”

“Why did they send you specifically?”

“Does it matter?”

An innocent enough question, but defensive at the same time. Sorey weaves accordingly. 

“I’m just curious. I’ve never met anyone from Heaven before.”

“I was chosen because I’m appropriate for the job,” Mikleo says. His eyes are still on the file, his voice even. Were he anyone else, Sorey would suspect that there is more to it. As it is, it could go in either direction. 

He focuses on the road, but there are still questions, swimming back and forth like fish in a pond. He decides to voice an important one. 

“So this oath,” he says and Mikleo’s eyes are immediately back on him. “What does it mean exactly?”

“What I said it does,” Mikleo says. “I will follow your judgment on who gets hurt.”

“But does that mean you’re like… my subordinate, or something?”

It is the best term he can come up with for what he means. The tiny frown returns. 

“I won’t attack on your command, if that’s what you mean. It’s more like a shield. Unless you tell me to, I can’t harm anyone. I can attack them or defend myself, but no harm can come to them.”

Sorey swallows, suddenly tense. “Alright.”

There is definitely some form of loophole in that. He will have to find some way to guard against it. There is no telling what an angel will do with a loophole. 

“How long until we reach Maxwell?” 

He snaps to attention and despite him, his lips twitch. 

“Lunarre,” he says. “He won’t like it if you call him Maxwell.”

“I thought humans preferred their first names?”

Sorey raises his eyebrows. It does sound reasonable put like that. “It’s not that simple. Some people call me by my last and some by my first.” It feels oddly endearing to have to explain this. 

“It all depends on the relationship you have with someone.”

Three seconds of silence, and then Mikleo lets out the tiniest, almost imperceptible sigh. 

“That is not how I was briefed,” he says flatly. Sorey almost smiles then. Almost. 

“What, someone gave you a rundown on humanity?”

“I don’t know what that expression means,” Mikleo says simply, “but I was told some of what to expect.”

“Fair enough.” Sorey makes a turn down a more secluded road, leading to the outer corner of the city. “We’ll be there soon, and call him Lunarre. But better yet,” he lets go of the wheel with one hand to point at Mikleo, “let me do the talking. I know how to deal with him.”

“I know how to interrogate a suspect,” Mikleo says, and perhaps Sorey is imagining the annoyance, but it does make him a little happier. At least he is not the only one annoyed. 

“You just told me someone handed you Sparknotes on humanity. Just let me do it now, and then we’ll talk it through. Deal?”

He turns his head briefly to look into Mikleo’s eyes. The annoyance is definitely there. He feels some form of vindication. 

“I don’t make deals,” Mikleo says. “They are a demon’s bargaining tool. But I will allow you to do the talking.”

It provokes him somewhat, which he deems a deliberate act. He smiles lightly, spitefully, and makes another turn. 

“Fantastic.”


	6. Chapter 6

Sorey parks in a communal lot near the end of the lower district. They have a view of the water as they step out, and he notices the way Mikleo stops to look at it for a long moment. Mikleo makes no comment on it and follows him off the lot and into a hotel that looks decent enough. Sorey was surprised when he found the address. Lunarre tends to stick to the cheaper, less maintained places. 

He introduces them at the reception simply by flashing his badge. A nervous bellboy offers to lead them upstairs. With every floor the elevator ascends, Sorey’s eyebrows rise a fraction. It is by no means a fancy hotel, but still unusual for Lunarre. 

Mikleo follows him silently through the hallway, but Sorey listens raptly to his every step. It feels odd, tense, to know just what follows behind him. The carpet dulls the sound of his shoes hitting the floor, and Sorey tenses further. 

They dismiss the bellboy when they get to the room. Sorey knocks on the door, a few short raps, and listens closely. 

There is some swearing on the other side, followed by heavy footsteps. Then the door swings open with enough force that the air flow ruffles Sorey’s hair. 

“Does “Do not disturb” mean anything to you?” Lunarre spits. Upon seeing Sorey, he immediately pales. 

“I hadn’t noticed,” Sorey says coolly. “Do we come at a bad time?”

Lunarre stares at them for exactly one second, his eyes flitting between them. Then he slams the door in Sorey’s face. 

“I’ll break it if you need me to,” Mikleo suggests. Sorey looks at him. 

“No need,” he says after only a moment’s consideration. “He’s going down the fire escape. It’s his go-to. Stay here and I’ll go after him.” 

“Why am I staying if you’re sure?” Mikleo asks, and Sorey might be imagining the note of annoyance.

“In case he feints,” Sorey says, smiling slightly. Then he takes off down the hall. 

He runs with purpose and barely skids on the soft carpet as he rounds a corner to the staircase. He reaches for the handle and startles as another hand just about flies past him, taking the handle and pulling it open so that it almost hits him in the face. 

The now loose handle falls to the floor and Mikleo shoots past him with unnatural speed down the stairs. 

Sorey stops short. He stares blankly. 

“Motherf-”

“Shit.” 

He turns back to see Lunarre, wide-eyed and frozen behind him. Now with his back to the staircase, he realises that Lunarre did indeed feint, waiting for them to leave and then running in the wrong direction. 

For a moment, both of them can only stare. Then they spring into action. 

“Fuck!” Lunarre yells and runs. 

“Freeze!” Sorey yells and follows. 

The chase is short. Sorey tackles him to the ground at the end of the hallway, past the door to his room. He receives an elbow to the cheek for his trouble. 

“Will you-ow! Will you settle down? I’m not here to arrest you!”

Lunarre immediately goes still beneath him, though still with an elbow pressed into Sorey’s ribs. Sorey almost sags against him, feeling his jaw for anything broken. There is nothing, and he rolls off with some effort. 

“Then why the fuck are you here? And what’s with the freezing?”

Lunarre sounds tired and gravely annoyed. Join the club, Sorey thinks wryly. 

“Reflex,” he huffs, almost apologetically. “I need some information. Thought I could count on an old friend.”

Lunarre snorts inelegantly. Sorey’s mouth twitches. 

“Yeah?” Lunarre sits up and brushes at clothes that were wrinkly long before Sorey intervened. “If I count as a friend, you have quite the sad life.”

“What do you want?”

He asks it dryly, because this is not their first time. Lunarre will give up anyone for a price. It makes him more useful than arresting him, really. It also helps that he does nothing nowadays but petty theft and selling information. 

“A fucking nap,” Lunarre says. They are both still lying on the floor. “Maybe being left alone.”

“Wouldn’t that be something,” Sorey agrees. “But I’m gonna need a reasonable price.”

Muted footfalls startle them both into sitting up. Mikleo appears beside them in the hallway. He is not winded at all, despite the speed he evidently kept the whole way back as well. 

“I see he feinted,” Mikleo observes. Sorey considers snapping at him, but it would only look bad in front of Lunarre. 

“He did,” he says flatly. 

They return to the room together, with Mikleo keeping a close eye on Lunarre. Sorey is not worried anymore. Lunarre has never backed out of a deal. He will likely not start now. 

“There is something I could use, actually.” Lunarre digs through the minibar in the corner of the room. Sorey watches him pull out a soda with growing confusion. Has he made a big sale or something?

“What’s that?”

“What do you think?” Lunarre sits on the bed, watching Mikleo warily. Sorey is glad to know that the latter’s presence unnerves more people than just him. Something about him makes Sorey feel tense like he is being watched. Or trapped in a space with something that could plausibly eat him. 

“I heard you took Martin in,” Lunarre says, punctuated by the snap of him opening the soda. “Word is he has a shipment coming in from Pendrago soon, and that you know where to find it.”

“Meaning it’ll be intercepted by police,” Sorey says. Lunarre gestures his assent with the drink. 

“I need them to be ten minutes late,” he says. 

Sorey makes a show of considering it. He throws a glance at Mikleo and sees the latter’s shoulders tensing. His face remains blank. Sorey wonders what he is thinking. 

“Done,” he says, and Mikleo’s eyes immediately snap to him with some incredulity. That answers that question. 

“Perfect,” Lunarre says. “What will you need in return?”

Mikleo’s eyes practically bore into Sorey’s head, but he looks firmly at Lunarre.

“I need a lead on Lukas. He’s gone underground again. It’s time sensitive.”

Lunarre’s eyes flash but he says nothing at first. Sorey waits, wary of Mikleo’s expression. He hopes the latter will not do anything rash. 

“I can’t help you there,” Lunarre says, “He hasn’t contacted me in a while, but I can give you a subordinate who reached out recently. There’s a good chance he knows something.”

“What did he reach out about?

“Actually about you,” Lunarre says, smirking. “Looks like you’re getting under Luke’s skin. He wants you dead.”

“Of course he does,” Sorey says. Mikleo has apparently had enough of this. 

“Why are you doing this?” he asks. Sorey turns to see purple eyes on him. Mikleo has stood up and is now looking down at him. 

Sorey is not sure whether the tone of his voice is supposed to make him feel like a soldier being disciplined or a child being scolded, but he dislikes both options enough that he has an urge to snap at him in return. Instead he says calmly, “Sit back down.”

Mikleo’s eyes narrow a fraction.

“This is immoral.”

“It’s necessary,” Sorey says, feeling more than a little miffed at that particular comment. “Sit down.”

“Are you not ashamed of what you’re doing?” Mikleo asks sharply. “Is this a normal thing for you?”

“Mikleo-”

“Did I swear to follow the judgment of a corrupt officer?”

“Okay, stop.” Sorey stands up too, his tone now cold and just as sharp. “Go outside and I will find you when I’m done with this. Stay in the parking lot.”

“I don’t follow your orde-”

“You follow them or you find another detective to do this with you.” Sorey narrows his eyes. He knows that the oath will keep Mikleo close by. “Now go.”

Mikleo looks as though he might say something for a moment, but then he turns away with clear anger in his eyes and strides out the door to the hallway and onward to the elevator. Sorey feels almost dizzy with the sudden rush of adrenaline. 

Lunarre, who kept silent and only raised an eyebrow at the whole exchange, now looks at the door with wary interest.

“What’s with him?” he asks and sips his drink. 

Sorey tries to get his breathing to calm again.

“Nothing,” he says. “He’s just new.”

* * *

He finds Mikleo in the parking lot some ten minutes later, looking out over the lake again. The sunlight glitters on the water, but Sorey has little time to appreciate it. 

He stops for a moment before approaching to observe Mikleo’s face. There is nothing to be gleaned from it, really. Mikleo’s expression is the same blank slate, and he is left wondering what the angel could be thinking. Well, he is about to learn what Sorey is thinking. 

“What the hell was that?”

Despite the wording, his tone is calm, because some part of him still retains enough self preservation to want to avoid a smiting. The rest of him does not quite agree, wants to push the limit of what Mikleo will tolerate for the sake of working with him, but that little part will probably always be there regardless. 

Mikleo’s gaze is suddenly sharp. “That was a protest of you breaking the law for your own means. Why would you offer anything to an enemy?”

His voice is far sharper than Sorey’s. He might as well go ahead then. 

“That was an information trade so that I can solve this case. It is not as black and white as just catching someone in the act and arresting them, but what you saw there-”

“What I saw there was an officer of the law breaking it, was it not? Lunarre is a criminal. You don’t bargain with them.”

“It is not that simple,” Sorey says. 

“Isn’t it?”

“No,” he says firmly, “because if you’d let me finish, you’d know that Martin is an undercover cop in the drug trade and that the shipment has nothing in it. It’s a trap.”

Mikleo’s gaze is still hard to hold, but Sorey was never one to back down. They stare at each other for a few long seconds. Then Mikleo speaks. 

“I am not ignorant of the concept of what you did in there,” he says. For a moment, his eyes waver from Sorey’s. “I thought you were betraying your department.”

“I was not,” Sorey says, and yes, it does come out somewhat petulant. “I was actually risking losing that contact.”

“Will you not certainly do so?”

He shakes his head. “Don’t think so. There’s a forged faulty shipping schedule that’ll account for the missing drugs. They’ll just move on to another target.”

He will take the victory that is Mikleo deflating the slightest bit. He had not even noticed the angel pugging up some, as though he was trying to posture Sorey into submission. It reminds him oddly of a bird. 

“I can accept that,” Mikleo says. “Let us return to the precinct.”

“Hey, no, wait.” Sorey stops him by grasping his arm. He then recoils, releasing it quickly. “We need to talk about what happened in there. If we’re going to solve this case together, we need some ground rules.”

Mikleo’s stare might be the equivalent of an eyebrow raising. Maybe. 

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” Sorey nods firmly. “What you did in there could have screwed up that trade, setting us back to square one with no leads. If we’re going to do this, I need to be able to trust you to follow orders.”

“I won’t deceive people for you,” Mikleo says. Sorey feels the urge to roll his eyes. 

“I don’t mean that. Just don’t argue with me in front of the criminals, and don’t go off on your own when I tell you to stay put. Understand?” 

“I’m far faster than you,” Mikleo argues. “There was no sense in that order.”

Sorey draws a deep breath to calm himself. How Mikleo can provoke him so easily where others cannot, he may never know. 

“It doesn’t matter. I knew what I was doing, I’ve done it a million times before, and I told you to stay in case he feinted, which he did.”

“And if you had stayed behind, the result would have been the same with the added assurance that I would have caught him had he not feinted.”

“I am the leading officer on this case.”

“I will not follow an order that is faulty.”

“I don’t care!” Sorey bursts out. “I am the leading officer and you practically begged to work with me. You wanna do that, you do as I say.”

His voice is rising, his breath coming shorter with his ire. Mikleo stares at him, and something has shifted in his gaze. Sorey plows on. 

“Don’t undermine me in front of anyone, don’t go off on your own. Got it?”

His own stare dares the angel to challenge him. He is fully aware still of whose space he leans into, but his usual self-preserving instincts seem to disconnect whenever Mikleo opens his mouth to make his opinion known. The odd rush of power contrasts the paranoia he feels at all other times with him, even as he knows that this posturing means nothing in reality. 

“Got it,” Mikleo says, and once again his voice has lost all inflection. Sorey is practically heaving with anger and adrenaline. 

He turns and walks back to the car, fully aware of the click of Mikleo’s shoes behind him. 


	7. Chapter 7

“This is Anastasia Selch.” 

Sorey uses a magnet to pin a picture to the whiteboard. It is of a woman with carefully pinned hair and fancy clothes. Her eyes are glassy and sharp. 

“She’s an associate of Lukas’ and his current messenger to the Scattered Bones.”

“The Scattered Bones?”

Rose looks at him oddly. 

“He wants a contract?”

“Of course he does,” Zaveid says. “He’s got the golden boy on his heels. Who better to make an example of?”

“There’s no way he’s getting a contract on you from the Bones,” Rose says. 

“Of course not,” Sorey agrees. To Mikleo, he says, “They don’t go after cops.”

Mikleo just nods in reply. He sits between Rose and Zaveid at the foremost table in the briefing room.While Mikleo sits with his back straight, the other two lounge beside him, although Sorey can see the nervous glances Rose sends his way. She looks as though she is seeing a ghost, which is saying something when it comes to Rose. 

“So do you want us to work the case with you?” Zaveid asks. 

Sorey gestures with the pen to him. “Not quite - I know you both have active cases. I just need some help getting in contact with her.”

Rose sits up straight and then immediately leans forward, elbows resting on the table. 

“She’s evading you?”

“The Bones are evading me. While she’s inquiring, they’re keeping her below the radar.”

“I see.” Rose looks at the picture. “Yeah, that’ll be an issue.”

“Fair enough.” Zaveid crosses his arms. “What do you need?”

“I need some help drawing her out.” Sorey points to the whiteboard. Then he turns to outline his plan on it. The first step is a halfway decent map. “Selch is hidden somewhere in the upper district. She’s just a messenger for Lukas, but she has her own connections outside that. If we can convince her we want a deal for some information, she’s sure to accept.”

He adds some details to his map and crosses out three locations. “These are all the places where her people will accept pickups. We simply need one letter to reach her.”

Rose inspects the drawing closely.

“Is that the palace?” She looks at it as though she is missing imaginary glasses. “She has connections to the royal family?”

“Shaky ones,” Sorey confirms. “Enough that we should be careful with that drop-off, but also enough that we can hold them over her head to get her to cooperate.”

It is now that Mikleo decides to speak up, and both Zaveid and Rose jump as he does so. His voice is calm, but he has a way of blending into the background when he does not speak. 

“There is corruption in the palace?”

The question holds as much judgment as “did I swear an oath to a corrupt man” did. It raises Sorey’s hackles just a bit, but this he has no real reason to defend. The instinct is there, but he decides quickly against it. 

“The queen is doing her best, but they’re hard to get rid of. But this one we can use.”

Mikleo stares at him for a long moment, while Rose and Zaveid unsubtly stare at the angel. Then, to Sorey’s surprise, he simply nods. 

“So we threaten her standing with the queen?”

Sorey quickly gathers his thoughts. “Correct, but I need you two,” He gestures to the cops, “to make the other deliveries. We’re on a schedule to reach her as quick as we can.”

“I’m good with that,” Zaveid says easily. “The next step of my case is a visit to the upper district anyway.” 

“Which you knew, of course,” Rose says, and Sorey answers her smile with his own. They know him well. 

“I’m in,” Rose continues. “Set it up and I’ll make sure it gets to her.”

“Perfect. Mikleo and I will take the third pickup. Three should be enough to get her attention.” He points to Mikleo with the whiteboard pen. “And let me do the talking this time.”

The others look perplexed, but Mikleo simply looks at him flatly. A long five seconds pass, and then he says dryly, “I’ll do my best.”

“All I can ask,” Sorey says. “I’ll go get the letters. Wait for me before you head out.” At Zaveid’s nod, he says to Mikleo, “Let’s go.”

* * *

“Sorey, wait.”

He stops halfway through the hallway to the bullpen and turns to see Rose following them. 

“You got a moment?” she asks with a pointed glance towards Mikleo. 

Sorey nods. “Mikleo, would you excuse us?”

Mikleo gives him a curt nod. 

“I’ll be in the break room.”

“You know where to go?”

“Of course. It is where I healed you after you almost dro-”

“Right, of course. Go ahead.”

They watch him go until he turns the corner. Then Sorey turns to Rose.

“What’s up?”

Rose is looking at him in that way she does when she worries. It is usually a source of annoyance for him, but given the circumstances of the last few days it makes a lot of sense now. 

“Are you okay?” she asks, and despite her look, her tone is the same one she uses to soften up suspects. It does not exactly force truth, but it encourages it. 

“I’m fine, Rose. He hasn’t tried to kill anyone and I’ve got an eye on him.”

“I don’t mean that.” She shakes her head. At his raised eyebrow, she says, almost sheepish, “Well, you did almost die."

He blinks. She does have a point. It is not that this fact eluded him, but with everything that has happened, he sort of brushed past it and forgot how grave it was. It also makes it feel less real when he woke from it as though from a bad dream, health intact and mind thrown for a loop. He never even considered that it might be contributing to the stress he feels. He was entirely focused on Mikleo. 

He stares at Rose for a moment too long, and she tilts her head in concern. 

“I think you should talk to Boris about switching out with someone. No, don’t give me that look. Just for a bit.”

Her hand comes to rest on his arm. He briefly considers shrugging it off, but instead just shakes his head. 

“It’s okay, Rose. Besides, dealing with this quickly will be better than waiting around.”

“I just think you’re putting yourself at too much risk.”

Sorey shakes his head with some confusion. “Wait, weren’t you the one who wanted to hear him out?”

“I said we should talk about our options,” she says, incredulous. “And you went ahead and added him to the case. It’s not like you, and that tells me he did something, or he has something on you.”

“No,” Sorey insists, though he knows it will not convince her. She is a good detective and he would be asking the same questions in her place. “I just realised this is the safest way to get him to keep in line. He’s going to do this with or without our permission, Rose. I don’t even know why he cares what I think, but he does. I might as well use that.”

Rose looks sceptical. “He’s a volatile divine being, Sorey. What tells you he won’t just go rogue at any second?”

“Nothing.”

Sorey reaches up to rub at his eyes. “Nothing tells me that, but I have to do something, Rose. You know what he’ll do otherwise.”

“He’s supposed to stick to an officer, not you specifically.” She sighs. “Look…”

She leans closer, her voice lowering to just above a whisper. 

“Is this about your mom?”

That stops him short. He looks up and down the hallway for anyone nearby, but even Zaveid has long since left. His first instinct is to be defensive, but he can also see why she would think such a thing.

“No…” 

After a long moment of honestly considering it, he heaves a sigh and leans on the wall beside her. 

“No, it’s not. I’m just worried.”

It is not going to convince her, but he might not have to. Not if he can get this case over with quickly. 

Rose leans beside him, crossing her arms. “I can accept that if you’re sure, but can you see how I’d be worried about you?”

He smiles gently. “I can.” 

Their gazes fall to the floor, and Rose seems to weigh her words. Just as Sorey begins to get lost in his own thoughts, she leans her head on the wall and looks up at the ceiling. 

“This doesn’t all have to fall on you,” she says. At his look, she adds, “No, hear me out. You’re not some chosen one who has to save the city. You’re just the first one he took a liking to, and we don’t have to go along with what he wants.”

Sorey almost laughs at the phrase “took a liking to”, but the conversation weighs too heavily on him for it. 

“He doesn’t like me,” he says. “He just needs me.”

“For what?” Rose asks. “Why you?”

Sorey considers telling her about the oath, but really, that was just the method Mikleo used to convince him. It tells him nothing of why Mikleo wanted to work with him in the first place. In fact, nothing Mikleo has done since has indicated anything but annoyance and regret at his choice in partner. He tries not to think about that too hard. 

“I don’t know,” he says. 

Rose considers it for a moment and then says, “If you insist on working with him, I’ll respect that, but don’t think you’re the only one who can take it. You’re not.”

“I know.” He smiles at her, a genuine smile. “Thank you, Rose.”

“Anytime. Just don’t do anything stupid.”

With those final affectionate words, she leaves for the bullpen. Sorey stays leaning on the wall for a minute more, thinking. 

Then he heads for the break room to fetch Mikleo.

* * *

The drive to the upper district is quiet for the most part. It gives Sorey some time to gather his thoughts. 

Mikleo has already proven himself a danger to the mission. If he is going to act like this at every turn, Sorey will have to remain vigilant. Rose’s words stay with him long after he decides not to think on them anymore. She does have a right to be worried. 

In truth, he feels in some part that there must have been something to draw Mikleo to him. Whether it has to do with Sorey himself or something else, he may never know, but there has to have been something. Mikleo was adamant in his decision. 

It feels awkward to throw subtle glances Mikleo’s way and hope that he will not notice when there is no way to know what he can hear or see. Sorey knows virtually nothing about the power of angels besides the broad strokes they like to bring up in books. Divine power, holy strength, all that stuff, but what would be helpful right now would be some specifics. Does “divine power” include superior eyesight? Hearing? Mind reading?

“Ask me,” Mikleo says, and Sorey has a moment of genuine panic, because can he really read minds? But then Mikleo says, “You keep looking at me, and I know you must be curious.”

“Really?” he asks, the question practically bursting forth before he can stop it. “You haven’t been very chatty so far.”

“I am not happy about the prospect, I’ll admit, but we’ll be working together for some time. If you’re going to stare the whole time, we might as well be rid of the uncertainty.”

Fair enough, he thinks, and relentlessly practical. And Oracle help him, he really is curious, but many of the questions he has would likely be rejected with a subtle glare and some clipped words. He squeezes the wheel and thinks. Then he opts for the question still at the forefront of his mind. 

“I guess I’m wondering what the scope of your powers is.”

“In what sense?” Mikleo looks at him. The question draws him up short, but then he realises that the answer may not be as obvious to someone who has said powers. Someone who has never known anything different. 

“Like, what do you have that a human doesn’t?”

“Feathers, for one.”

Sorey blinks. He genuinely cannot tell whether or not that was a joke. A glance at Mikleo’s face tells him nothing. He gives an awkward smile and decides to just move past it, just in case. 

“Fair enough. What else?”

“Strength, speed.” It does not go unnoticed that he does not specify them to be superior, but then again, Sorey would not bother to use that word if compared to, say, an ant. 

“Four faces.”

Now that is something he can make a conversation out of.

“Oh?”

“Yes. A cherub’s true form has four faces, one human and three animal.”

“Huh.” He raises his eyebrows. “You’re a cherub?”

“I am.” There is no tone to Mikleo’s voice but the words are short, clipped. Sorey catches on to it, but that will not make him avoid the subject. 

“I would have taken you for a seraph.”

“Yes, I get that a lot,” Mikleo says. He looks out the passenger window, which Sorey notices too. 

“Well, what’s the difference?

“Ranking, mostly.”

Sorey tries to keep from reacting too much. This does seem like something that bothers Mikleo, and pushing it too far might just make the situation between them worse. But he really would have taken Mikleo for a seraph. 

He remembers the seraphim from the history books. The soldiers of Heaven who possessed humans and used them to fight. He had never even considered that Mikleo might not be one. They were the front line of the army, the ones trusted to end the conflict. 

They are the primary agents of Heaven. He has never heard of an angel of lower rank coming to Earth. 

He opts to leave that topic entirely for the moment. After all, asking Mikleo directly is not the only way to find out more. 

“So are you the angel  _ of _ something?”

Mikleo looks at him again. 

“Hm?”

“You know.” He gestures vaguely with one hand, unsure of what he means by it. “There’s tons of legends. Angels of wisdom, power, fertility.” He immediately wants to retract that last one at Mikleo’s look. “So what are you the angel of?”

There is no shift in Mikleo’s expression, nothing to indicate his discomfort with the subject except for the fact that his answer takes a few seconds longer than it otherwise would. 

“Nothing.” 

Sorey raises an eyebrow. “Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“So it’s a ranking thing to get a title like that?”

This answer, too, takes a second too long. 

“Yes.”

There is no way for him to tell the sincerity of it, but that is true of everything Mikleo says. The only exception that comes to mind is the sincerity with which he recited his oath to Sorey. It is difficult to tell the earnestness of someone who hardly ever moves their facial muscles. As a detective - one who normally operates on body language rather than words - it is just yet another thing that bothers him about the angel. 

To fill the silence, he chances continuing the questions. 

“Alright then. What do you really look like?”

Mikleo blinks. “I told you. Four faces.”

Sorey gives another empty gesture. “Yes, so you said, but how do they fit? Are they like floating around or squashed together or something? Is there a body attached?”

He is beginning to properly notice the silence before Mikleo answers a question he does not want to answer. It is not long, but it is there. He wonders how many of these answers are actually true. Could Mikleo be messing with him? Do angels do that sort of thing?

“I’m unsure how to explain it,” Mikleo says at last. “You’re right in that they float, but there is also a body. Its just… not the way yours is? Not physical in the same sense, at least. Not the way the heads are.”

“So your heads are your main feature?”

“Is your head not?”

That might have been amusement in Mikleo’s eyes. Maybe. 

“Fair enough,” Sorey says, and there is definitely amusement in his own. 

“There are also the aforementioned feathers,” Mikleo says, matter of fact. “I imagine you’ve heard of them.”

The silence that settles over them is not on Mikleo. Sorey chooses his words carefully. 

“I have,” he says simply. The silence is quite warranted, and Mikleo obviously knows this. Angel wings are the primary symbol of heavenly beings on Earth, negative in their meaning since the Hyland-Rolance war. Though there are few who have ever seen an angel now, everyone on Earth would recognise a pair of angel wings.

Mikleo seems to be aware of the awkwardness of the moment, because he then continues. 

“My true form is far larger than I am in this form. It’s… a little disconcerting, to be honest.”

Sorey will cop to some honest surprise at that. Not the fact that Mikleo is big - he expected as much - but the fact that he admitted to the discomfort of it. It is a sort of admission he has yet to hear from the angel about anything. Perhaps there is some significance to it. 

“How big are we talking?”

Another few seconds of silence, but now when Sorey glances his way, he sees that it is because Mikleo is looking with interest out the front window of the car. He seems to be searching the city for something. It quickly becomes clear what it is.

“About the size of that building,” he says and points. 

Sorey makes a careful turn and makes sure that they are steady on the road before he looks. The hotel is not huge by any means, but definitely a respectable size. Especially compared to Sorey himself. 

The thought takes a moment to properly sink in Something of that magnitude has managed to squeeze itself into the body of a human, then the passenger seat of his car, and is now amicably answering questions just because he is curious. He would feel reverent were it not for the fact that that thing is an angel. It is hard to feel reverent around something whose species thinks so little of his own kind. 

It is perhaps this thought that prompts the urge to point at another building in turn, quite close to Mikleo’s example, and say “Yeah, well, that one’s bigger.”

He almost keeps from looking at Mikleo then. The thought occurs to him that Mikleo may need him, but enough to stand that kind of joke? He supposes he will have to find out. 

The response is more than he hoped for, because Mikleo merely states, with the same flat voice, “Yes, well, I hear humans always were obsessed with that sort of thing.”

It startles, no,  _ drags  _ a laugh out of him. It comes out entirely too loud and he immediately coughs and clear his throat to quiet it. 

Mikleo looks on, and that is definitely amusement in his eyes. He knows how funny that was. Sorey wonders what exactly was in that briefing he got on humanity. 

Sorey sits back and relaxes a bit. The air practically feels lighter around them now. A question still remains in his mind. One he was sure he would not have the opportunity to ask. 

He is not sure why he thinks the risk might be less now. Perhaps it is the fact that Mikleo finally shared something personal, or the shared amusement over a joke. He chances it. 

His voice low, he asks, “Will you tell me why you’re really here?”

He waits anxiously in the silence that follows. The only thing he can hear is the hum of the engine. He watches Mikleo as closely as he can while still keeping his eyes on the road. The angel’s eyes are on his hands, rested on his lap. 

Then, as Sorey watches out of the corner of his eye, Mikleo turns back to the window. 

“No,” he says. Then, “That is enough questions.”

And looking at the set of his shoulders and the clench of his fists - the body language that is finally there for him to see - Sorey can agree that he is right.


	8. Chapter 8

They meet the contact outside the palace, in the lower section of the gardens. 

“Hi,” he greets them, bright and friendly. For a member of a criminal organisation, he looks oddly normal. The tool belt at his waist clarifies his position as a gardener, and a good one if the roses around them are anything to go by. Sorey greets him with the same bright smile and a firm handshake. 

“What can I do for you today?” the gardener asks, and for just a moment his eyes flit to Mikleo’s face. He then turns to Sorey with laser focus. 

“Nothing much, just a small favour,” Sorey says. “We heard you can help us get in touch with your boss.”

“I’d wager everyone in the city would like me to help them with that. She’s not exactly bad to look at.”

He winks at Mikleo in a way Sorey suspects the angel will not understand at all. Sorey’s lips twitch in amusement. Then he takes the gardener by the shoulders and pulls him in, as though to give him a friendly, one-armed hug. 

“Wrong boss,” he mutters, quietly enough that no one around them can hear. He releases him and when the gardener steps back, his grin has a sharp edge to it. 

“Yeah?” he asks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do.”

The gardens are lush and vibrant. It is a bright sunny day, but Sorey’s eyes are on the garden shears in the pocket of the man’s tool belt. He listens as Mikleo shifts on his feet behind him, but his shoulders are relaxed and his smile is still easy. 

The gardener looks at Mikleo then, and there is a shift in his eyes that Sorey takes for suspicion, but Mikleo apparently takes for something else. A hand appears on Sorey’s shoulder, drawing him back slightly. He tenses up, worried. 

Before Mikleo can do anything, Sorey slips the letter and a wad of money from his pocket and holds it out of view of the others working in the garden. His other hand goes to Mikleo’s waist, pushing him back and squeezing. Mikleo’s hand leaves his shoulder and he takes the direction to back off. 

“I can make it worth your while.”

The gardener glances at the money. He raises an eyebrow. 

“I make more than that per hour digging worms out here.” He gestures to the garden. Sorey notices another glance at the angel, this one nervous. Sorey prays (although he is unsure to whom) that Mikleo will not ruin another negotiation. 

“Then how about this: I set you up with a promotion within the next week, and you earn more than this per hour cleaning the fountain every day.”

Sorey smiles serenely. The guy looks him up and down. As he shifts on his feet, his hand settles on his hip, close to the garden shears. 

It happens quickly, quicker than Sorey can stop it. Mikleo’s hand is at Sorey’s shoulder again and this time he pulls. Hard. 

Sorey almost falls backwards as Mikleo steps past him, and in the next moment he has the gardener in a grip by the throat. Sorey’s breath catches in his chest. In the back of his mind, he remembers the oath. 

And then he remembers what they are actually doing. 

He takes hold of Mikleo’s shoulders and pulls hard, but the angel is immovable, his feet planted firmly on the ground. 

“Mikleo, stop!” 

The gardener claws at the hand on his throat and gasps. For a moment, everything slows to a stop. 

Then Mikleo’s hand erupts with light, and Sorey curses himself for ever letting this happen. 

He closes his eyes against the burning light and backs up involuntarily, shielding them with his eyes as best he can. When he dares to look, he sees Mikleo, two steps away from the gardener, looking at him expectantly. The man gasps and coughs, falling to his knees on the grass. 

Sorey’s heart races in his ears. He and the gardener stare at each other, wide-eyed. 

“What…” The man gasps, looks up at Mikleo. 

Sorey staggers up to stand. He looks around and sees a handful of palace workers rubbing at their eyes and clamouring in fear. 

“What did you do!?” the gardener shouts. Mikleo just stares at him, while Sorey stares at Mikleo. The angel looks… confused?

They have no time. Everything is falling apart, and he has to get Mikleo out of there. He takes the angel by the arm and drags him, and this time Mikleo comes along. They break into a run at the lower palace grounds and keep it up all the way back to the car. 

There is little he can say that will not immediately rob him of his voice. He is too angry and shocked. Mikleo is staring at him, and there is no telling what it means.

“What,” Sorey says, voice raising, “in sweet absolute Hell was that!?”

At first, Mikleo says nothing, and he does actually look a little unsettled. He looks up at the palace gardens above them, and his voice is a little too flat as he speaks. 

“I sensed something. A demon. I thought I would be able to provoke it, draw it out.” He looks back at Sorey. “Show it to you so that I could fight it.”

Sorey’s breath is coming in shallow pants. His heart pounds in his chest, his mind filled with images of a man seemingly dying two steps from him. The words settle in his head slowly. 

“Your oath,” he says. “You can’t hurt people.”

It comes out like an accusation, but his voice breaks. He swallows hard. 

“I didn’t hurt him,” Mikleo says. “That was not a firm grip. He could breathe, but I needed close contact to draw out the demon.”

Sorey only stares, because really, what can he say to that? Cold fear has settled in his chest and he wonders how he ever thought he was capable of stopping Mikleo from doing anything. He never had any power at all.

He flew backwards like a tossed glove while Mikleo went straight for a man’s throat. 

“I have my oath to you,” Mikleo says calmly. “I would never hurt him without your approval.”

Sorey slows his breathing. In, hold for a few seconds, out. He gathers his thoughts and swallows hard. 

“Don’t ever do anything like that again.” He hardly even realises it as he gets close enough to touch noses with Mikleo. “I will quit this case in a second, do you hear me?”

“Sorey-”

“ _ Do you hear me _ ?”

He still heaves. Mikleo’s eyes flit between his. Slowly, his delicate eyebrows begin to draw together. 

“I hear you,” he says. His voice is small and thin. Sorey hardly has the presence to even be surprised.

“Get in the car,” he says. “We’re going back to the precinct.”

He turns around, but instead of the car, he comes face to face with a grey mask. He hardly has time to draw breath before a hand closes around his wrist and another shoves him in the shoulder, turning him back around. 

As wound up as he is, it takes a moment for the detective instinct to kick in. The roiling mix of emotion makes him a bit sluggish and he struggles to react in time. 

Mikleo is upon them immediately, tearing the hand from Sorey’s arm, and that gives him the moment he needs. Sorey turns and throws a blind punch. He misses, and a blow lands on his lower ribs. 

It knocks the breath out of him and brings him to his knees. In an instant Mikleo is standing over him. He shoves the attacker and a sword (an actual sword) slips from the opening of his sleeve into his hand. There is absolutely no way that it would fit in there. It must be his angel blade.

Sorey wheezes as Mikleo threatens the assailant with it, and then he gets a good look at the mask. 

The Scattered Bones. He has never seen one in person before. Only the pictures and security footage from their previous involvement in cases. If they are here in person, does that mean they have a contract?

“Sorey, may I defend us?” Mikleo asks. His voice is level but raised. 

Sorey looks at the assassin drawing a knife from a sheath at their hip. The holes in the mask are empty, and he can see brown eyes gazing back at him. His heart seizes in his chest. 

He cannot do this. Mikleo almost just strangled a man, and that was with no permission to hurt him. There is no telling what he will do. 

“No,” he croaks out, still gasping for breath. “Just get us out.”

Mikleo looks down at him, and that is all the opening the assassin needs. This is apparently also true for others. They burst forth from between cars and behind trees like ants spilling out of an anthill. Sorey counts five before he has to get up and defend himself, but there are definitely more. 

He dodges a jab to his stomach and grabs the arm to twist it, sending one assassin staggering to the side. They recover quickly, and he has no real way of retaliating. He realises distantly that his only real hope of getting out of this is Mikleo. 

The angel has sent several of them stumbling away at this point, ducking and weaving and redirecting their blows towards each other. Several of them have drawn weapons, knives and long daggers. He blocks them with his sword, but there is no real fencing with smaller, lither weapons. 

Sorey puts some distance between himself and two assassins approaching slowly. He draws his gun and aims for the one on the left. 

“Everyone, freeze!” he shouts, but none of them heed his warning. When he glances at Mikleo, he sees the angel overrun. 

Two assassins have him by the arms, and he just about lifts them off the ground trying to shake them off. As Sorey watches, he raises the sword and aligns the tip with the stomach of one of the desperately grasping assassins. 

“No!”

The angel stutters, hesitates, and his eyes flit briefly to Sorey’s. 

A third assassin grabs him from behind, wrapping thin arms around his shoulders. A knife with a black blade settles at his throat. 

Mikleo stops. Just like that, the sword drops from his hand and clatters to the ground, and he acquiesces as they push him to kneel on the ground. Sorey’s breath leaves him, his fear overwhelmed by confusion. 

A hand on his wrist twists until the gun falls from his hand and his arm folds at his back. He curses his lapse in attention as they force him to the ground as well. His knees his the asphalt hard, and someone holds a steel knife at his chin. 

He comes face to face with Mikleo, who will no longer meet his eyes. The assassin at Mikleo’s back draws the knife closer, and he raises his chin to follow it before it cuts into his skin. 

“Mikleo of Heaven,” she says, and her voice is distorted. A voice modulator. “You will tell me, and before I lose my patience: what is your business on Earth?”


	9. Chapter 9

At first, Mikleo does not answer her. His eyes are blank, his hands clenched in the grip of two assassins. The one at his back speaks into his ear.

“Answer me.”

Mikleo’s jaw clenches and relaxes, and Sorey thinks for a moment that he is going to say nothing. Then she draws the knife closer to his chin, and he shies from it. Sorey stares, wide-eyed. 

It looks different from the weapons the other assassins point at him to keep him in place. Where their blades are steel, this one is a darker metal, shiny in the light. There are green patches on it that he realises are inscriptions of some kind, marking he does not recognise. But Mikleo must recognise them, because he tenses in the assassins’ grip. 

His sword lies dropped on the ground in the open space between them. One of the assassins with free hands walks up and takes it by the hilt. It is barely off the ground before it makes a sound like metal snapping and bursts into instant, chaotic flame. The assassin drops it, and it cracks and disintegrates on the asphalt. They stand silent, patting the flame out of their glove with the other hand. 

“There is no point in denying it.” The woman with the knife speaks calmly now. “Answer me.”

“Yes,” Mikleo says stiffly. 

“You are the angel sent to Earth?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Don’t waste my time.” She stands up and straightens, but the knife remains in place. Through the holes in her mask, Sorey can see blue eyes. 

“Tell me why you’re here.”

Mikleo hesitates, and the knife draws closer again. Sorey sees his chest rise and fall with his breathing. 

“To rid Earth of a demon threatening it.”

“You’re lying,” the assassin says calmly. 

“I am not,” Mikleo says. 

“Who sent you?”

“The Oracle.”

Sorey does his best to keep calm. Stuck in this situation, a knife at his throat and his gun in someone else’s hands, there really is nothing he can do. They are outnumbered, and he prays that the Bones’ purpose here is not to kill them both. At least, he thinks, it is clear that Lukas did not send them, if they know about Mikleo. 

“What did he say to you exactly?”

Sorey sees something then. Something moving in the corner of his eyes. He looks down from Mikleo’s face to his left hand to see something forming on the skin of his exposed wrist. A mark, like the one that formed when he made an oath to Sorey. 

But where the mark from the oath was glowing warmly, this mark forms like a swelling bee sting, an angry pink colour over a growing scar. Then, as he watches, it begins to darken as though the skin on Mikleo’s arm is being burned. He cannot take his eyes off it. 

Mikleo breathes, slow and deep. 

“He told me to go to Earth and rid it of the demon, and to keep damage to a minimum as I did so.”

“How?”

“Which one?”

“How are you to rid it of the demon?”

“By killing it,” Mikleo says. “This officer is helping me to find it. I will kill it when we do so.”

Sorey speaks before he can think. “Whether I say so or not?”

Several grey masks turn to face him. Mikleo looks him in the eyes. 

“I have to, Sorey,” he says slowly. “It is too dangerous to leave up to rules like that.”

The assassin at Mikleo’s back shushes them, a sharp sound through the beak of her mask. To Mikleo, she says, “Why are you supposed to work with a human? And why this one?”

Mikleo hesitates, and the knife twitches at his throat. He swallows. 

“It will incur the least amount of loss and conflict with humanity. Heaven doesn’t want that. As for him,” another nod towards Sorey. “He was suggested as someone worthy.”

Sorey stares at him for a long moment. The leader makes a derisive noise. 

“Worthy of being in the presence of an angel, you mean?” She says it like an insult.

“No,” Mikleo says. “Just someone who can help me do this. Someone brave.”

The mark is darkening the width of Mikleo’s wrist, spreading up his forearm like a creeping infection. It looks painful, but his expression remains even.

“And will you honour this order?”

The assassin’s voice is even, though modulated. Her blue eyes meet Sorey’s for a split second, and he searches them for anything readable. There is nothing. She is as blank as Mikleo, an easier feat for her with the mask obscuring so much of her face.

“I will.”

There is a long beat of silence in which the assassin considers this. They all remain still, even her guards, anticipating what she will say. 

“Fine.” 

She hands the knife to one of the guards holding Mikleo. He takes it and keeps it in place against Mikleo’s throat as she walks around to face him. This puts her at an angle to Sorey, and he can still see Mikleo, who tenses again. At her gesture, the guard hands her back the knife and she puts it to his throat.

“Give me his arm.”

Mikleo’s uninjured arm is brought forth to her and she takes him by the wrist with her free hand. She twists it so that the inside of his wrist faces up. 

“You’re going to swear an oath to me,” she says. 

Sorey is instantly seized with fear. His mind races. How do they know about oaths? And what will she make him do once she has him under one? An angel in the clutches of an organisation of assassins sounds just as bad, if not worse, as an angel working on their own. He could kill anyone in the world for them, and no one would be able to stop him. 

And what would happen if Mikleo were to swear an oath that contradicts the one he swore to Sorey? Judging by the look of his wrist, Sorey does not want to find that out. 

Mikleo’s jaw tenses but he holds still under the knife. Sorey tries to think of something, anything, he can do. 

A glance upwards lets him know that the assassins behind him are watching Mikleo now. This lapse in attention may be just what he needs, but he has to time it correctly. 

“Swear,” the leader says.

Sorey sees just a glimpse of the mark appearing on Mikleo’s wrist. The assassins at his back lean forward, just a bit. This is his chance. 

His hands are free, a merit of him presenting less of a threat than Mikleo with a knife poised at his neck. His gun is in the hands of another assassin beside him. He will not be able to reach it, but perhaps this will work. He knows that he has to try, because the alternative to this is Mikleo on a leash and potentially stuck on Earth with a guild of assassins. Mikleo finding another partner and returning to Heaven once this is all over is better than that. 

He reaches up, quick as a flash, and takes the knife by the hilt. The hand on it tightens, but instead of trying to tear it free, he simply forces it away from his neck. He stands up, and instead of trying to take it as they likely expect, he aims an elbow for the nearest mask. 

Glancing sideways, he sees the gun aimed in his direction, but then Mikleo takes his cue. 

The commotion causes the leader to turn her head, just a fraction, and that is all Mikleo needs. They all know that holding his arms is just a formality born out of caution, and this proves true as he reaches up with his burned hand, jerking a surprised assassin along with him, and takes the knife before the leader can react. He twists it roughly and stands up, assassins and all, twisting his other hand out of the leader’s grip. 

She retreats gracefully and the others follow her lead. The gun at Sorey’s side is immediately aimed for Mikleo. Sorey was hoping for that. It will likely do no damage, but the instinct is still there, and he counts on it. But then the assassin pulls the trigger, and the gun fires. 

He has counted on the assassins’ instincts to override their logic, but when faced with a gunshot to his partner’s chest, the same thing happens to him. For a moment, everything becomes instinctual, and he looks to Mikleo with cold fear twisting his gut. Everything seems to slow down for a moment. 

There is no record of an angel being killed in the war with anything other than an angel blade, but it is still terrifying to watch Mikleo stagger as the shot hits him, straight through his heart. Sorey’s breath catches as he watches. He expects him to fall to his knees, to collapse on the asphalt. Mikleo does no such thing. 

It is one thing to know logically that Mikleo is invulnerable and another entirely to watch him shrug off a gunshot as though it were a rough shove. His eyes land on the assassin, still aimed for him, and for a moment Sorey sees something terrifying in them. 

It is an act of mercy on Sorey’s part to tackle the assassin before Mikleo can get to her, and Sorey is the one to twist the gun out of her grip. She shoves him off and runs. 

With nothing to hold Mikleo in line, they all begin to make a quick retreat. Mikleo makes as if to follow them, but Sorey yells out, “Wait!”

Mikleo hesitates long enough for Sorey to reach him and grasp his arm. He holds on tightly, though he knows it will make no difference with Mikleo’s strength. But Mikleo only looks at him expectantly. 

Sorey pants as though he has run a marathon. Adrenaline makes his head swim and his head pound, but there is a deep sense of relief at the fact that they both made it safely out of that. He draws deep breaths and holsters the gun. 

“You’ll only make an enemy of them,” he says, “and that won’t help anything.”

Mikleo’s eyes are softer now, nothing like the anger that was there a moment earlier. Sorey looks down at his chest. 

A moment later, he has the angel’s shoulder in hand, checking the wound carefully. It is bleeding freely now, staining his white suit a deep red. 

“That looks really bad,” he says, ignoring for a moment the mix of emotions that writhes in his chest. “You gonna be okay?”

Mikleo looks down at the wound as though he is just now noticing it. He touches the edge of it and looks at bloodstained fingertips with some fascination. 

“Mikleo?”

“Hm?” He looks up. “Oh. Yes, I’ll be fine. It’s just the first time I’ve gotten a vessel damaged.”

He brushes idly at the bloodstained fabric as though that will do anything to clean it. Sorey swallows down nausea, unsure of whether it is due to the wound or Mikleo’s utter disregard for it. 

“It’ll heal up in a few minutes,” Mikleo says. “I think I’ll need some new clothing, though.”

There is no telling what possesses Sorey to do it, but in the next moment he has Mikleo’s burned wrist in hand, inspecting it. 

“And this?”

It seems to stun the angel He tugs gently, as if on instinct, but he does not pull away. Then he covers the mark - the worst of it - with his other hand. 

“That will be fine as well.”

“It’s your oath, isn’t it?”

Mikleo is silent for a long moment. Then he says, “Yes.”

“What happened?”

Sorey squeezes gently, and at once, he realises that the hand he practically holds in his own now is still holding the hilt of the dark knife. Mikleo’s grip is tight on it, his arm stiff, but he has not pulled away. 

“I revealed myself to someone on Earth,” he says. “That was part of my oath to the Oracle.”

It does look quite painful. Sorey looks up at the chest wound again and sees the flesh beneath the fabric already knitting together, closing into clean, unbloodied skin. It is clear that the same thing is not happening to the burn mark. 

“How long will it stay?” 

“A few weeks, I would guess.” Mikleo’s voice is nonchalant, but his arm is still quite tense in Sorey’s hands. 

“So the penalty for breaking an oath is bodily harm?” 

“It is.” Finally, Mikleo pulls away. He does so gently, careful not to touch Sorey with the knife. “But I will persevere.”

It is clear from his tone that he wants to be done with this conversation now. The issue with that is that this means returning to the one they were previously having, in which Sorey was shouting at him in abject fear. Now, with Mikleo having saved his life and possibly many others, Sorey is not sure how to continue that conversation at all. He is still angry, still terrified, but now it mingles with complete, abstract confusion. He has no idea what to say at this moment. 

Mikleo can evidently see him staring at the knife. At first, it looks as though he is going to slip it into his sleeve, perhaps to whatever dimensional compartment he pulled the sword from, but then he hesitates. 

“It is a cursed blade,” he says quietly. “It can harm or even kill an angel if handled correctly.” 

Quickly, deliberately, he flips it over so that he holds the blade on the blunt side instead of the hilt. He reaches out and offers it to Sorey, hilt first. 

“Take it,” he says, and when Sorey looks up in shock, he does not meet his eyes. 

“What?”

Mikleo gestures with it. “You are scared of what I will do. That much is evident. This way, you will not have to be.”

Sorey sputters. Mikleo looks up, and amethyst eyes meet his. 

“Take it.”

The angel is resolute. Slowly, unsure of what to think, Sorey takes it from him. It is heavier than other knives he has handled in the past, but not enough to hinder it from being a deft weapon. He stares at Mikleo, searching his face. 

Mikleo turns and walks back towards the car. 

“We should return to the precinct,” he says, rounding the front of it to get to the passenger seat. “We need to report to your superior how this mission went.”

He stops by the locked passenger door and looks to Sorey, who can do nothing but stare down at the knife. Sorey searches for words, but there are none. Not really. 

He takes his keys from his pocket and unlocks the car. Then he slips the knife, carefully, into the folds of his jacket. 

Mikleo gets in immediately, and after a moment of hesitation, Sorey follows. 


	10. Chapter 10

Sorey comes in to work early the next morning. He parks in the lot and sits in his car for a full ten minutes, thinking. 

There is no making complete sense of all the things that have happened to him in the last few days. He has met an angel, almost died several times, met the Scattered Bones in person, and seen them shoot said angel in the chest only for him to shrug it off as though it was nothing. He has seen an oath formed and another one broken, and none of it tells him what he should think of Mikleo now. 

The cursed knife sits in a sheath inside his jacket. It is an uncomfortable weight against his chest, more for mental reasons than actual physical weight. A knife that can harm or even kill angels. The concept seems incomprehensible, still. 

And Mikleo gave it to him. A creature capable of destroying the city gave him the one thing that could harm it as though he deserves to hold such power in his hands. It makes his head swim with questions, with renewed confusion about Mikleo’s intentions. If his intent if not what he says, this decision makes no sense at all, but if he does mean what he says…

It is an unexpected gesture, a profound one, and Sorey has no idea how to feel about it. That is a big part of the reason he spent the entire evening last night pacing his living room like a caged tiger. The other part was the case, but that is more common. He knows that he has difficulty letting things like that go, even when he really should. Rose and Zaveid like to tease him for it, and then tell him seriously to learn to relax. 

He reaches into his jacket and draws the knife, holding it in his lap where it will be out of sight to the people in the lot. It is a short, jagged thing with a sharp enough edge to easily draw blood. He thumbs the point carefully, fascinated. He has never seen anything like it, never heard of such a concept. All the harm done to angels in the history books has been with angel blades, nothing else. Nothing like this. 

There are markings all along the blade. He noticed them before, but here in the dimmer shadow beneath the dashboard, they almost seem to glow a bit. There must be powerful magic in it, because Mikleo was clearly not lying about how it could hurt him. He came close to forming an oath with the Scattered Bones because it was such a danger to him. 

Yep, he thinks, turning it over in his hands. No idea at all what to think or feel about this. 

He slips it back into his jacket and closes the zipper, feeling suddenly self conscious about its shape, visible through the fabric. It is no more noticeable than the gun at his hip, but he will be thinking about it all day. He exits the car and makes his way to the precinct, heading straight for the bullpen. 

The night shift has long since been relieved, and so the day crowd is bustling around the room, taking phone calls and logging reports. It is a jumble of paper rustling and voices, and even from out here he can hear that awful coffee machine chugging away in the break room. Mikleo sits in the corner, close to Rose’s desk, watching them. 

He could be mistaken, but Sorey could swear that he sees some interest in Mikleo’s eyes, in the way they flit about the room as if to take it all in. Then those purple eyes land on him, and Sorey averts his own for a moment, self conscious of the hidden knife. It makes him feel as though he is smuggling something into the precinct, something illegal and dangerous. Too dangerous.

“Morning,” he says amicably, settling on the desk by Mikleo. Rose seldom cleans it, but the patch he sits on is clear. He figures that she will not mind it. 

“Good morning,” Mikleo says. It is obvious from his tone that he takes it for work protocol and not a social one. He has probably heard it from every corner of the room, already. 

“How was the night shift?” Sorey asks, because there has to be some normalcy. He cannot start the morning by launching into all the questions he thought of in the car. He is not sure whether he should ask them at all. Everything about Mikleo, including the fear that still sits snug and cold in his chest, seems too complicated for him to deal with. 

“Quiet compared to this,” Mikleo says. “They seemed nervous.”

Sorey can imagine that. If the way he sits now is any indication, as though he is the ghost of a man haunting the precinct, they must have been more than a little unsettled. Anyone would be, given how dark it would have been at the time. 

“Did they talk to you at all?” 

“No. They all seemed quite busy,” Mikleo says. His eyes are beginning to drift again. The idle interest looks good on him. It makes him look human, and that adds somewhat to Sorey’s comfort. 

Or they were too creeped out, Sorey thinks, but then he immediately feels bad for it. It is quite clear to them both that social conduct is not the same in Heaven as it is on Earth. Mikleo not catching on to their mood is not his fault, especially when that is not his mission. In Sorey’s experience, an angel rarely cares for anything but the mission. 

Sorey looks down at his hands, fidgeting in his lap. There is no easy way to say what he wants to say, especially not to someone like Mikleo. But he is a detective and he has not received commendations in the past for his hesitation. He should say this, and so he will. 

“Hey, um…” He waits until he has Mikleo’s attention again. “I wanted to thank you. For the, uh…”

He pats awkwardly at the bump in his jacket. Mikleo looks at it for no more than a split second. He says nothing, and nothing shows in his eyes. 

“This,” Sorey finishes lamely. There is a beat of silence. Then Mikleo speaks. 

“I don’t want you to feel unsafe around me,” he says. “If this is what’s necessary, then I accept that.”

Sorey stares blankly at him. What could he possibly say to answer that? When the silence drags on for a moment too long, he coughs awkwardly to clear it. 

“Well, I appreciate it,” he says, and it feels awful to thank someone for something like that. But then, after what happened yesterday, he really does appreciate it. It is a big contrast to what Mikleo did in the gardens, and that means something to him. Just what it means, he is not quite sure yet. 

This thought is interrupted when Rose appears suddenly at his side. 

“Morning,” she says brightly, smiling when it makes Sorey jump in surprise. “How’s the demon case going?”

He and Mikleo share an awkward glance before Sorey says, “More stable now. We need to talk some things through before we continue,” this time a pointed glance the angel’s way, “but I think we have a real lead with the lady Selch. How’s yours going?”

“Oh, you know.” Rose does not seem to notice the looks between them at all, too busy unpacking things onto her already cluttered desk. “Reports this and reports that, but we caught the guy. That’s all that matters, really.” She winks at Mikleo, who stares flatly at her. It makes Sorey turn to hide his smile. Rose was never much for awkwardness, and against all odds, now she seems to be back in her element even with the angel in the room. 

“Always,” Sorey says. “So how about the new one?”

Boris briefed them on it the evening before, just before he sent Sorey home with the threat of desk duty if he did not get some actual rest. Sorey was fully prepared to argue, but then Rose pledged her full support to Boris’ argument, and he was suddenly outnumbered. Mikleo watched the whole exchange silently, and accepted Sorey’s order to remain with the night shift without question. If Sorey did not know better, he would take it for guilt to some extent. As it is, he has little idea what to think. 

But Mikleo remained with the night shift, and he got a handful of hours of sleep. He decides to let that be what matters now. 

“We went to the scene,” Rose says. Then she gets to the part that Sorey is truly interested in. “The guys caught on camera definitely had black eyes. It was no trick of the light.”

“What would demons be doing breaking into a store?” Sorey asks. Rose shrugs. 

“No idea. It’s not like they need anything from it, but here’s the interesting part.” She leans in conspiratorially. “They were never seen leaving. No signs of damage aside from the window they used to get in, and that was monitored all night.”

Sorey raises his eyebrows. “Could they have looped the footage?”

“It’s a possibility. We’re having the tapes checked right now.”

“Another demon so soon after the first sighting,” Mikleo says. “That has to have something to do with Lukas.”

Sorey points to him. “My thought exactly.” He turns back to Rose. “Say we go through the rest of this in a briefing room?” 

Rose smiles. “You read my mind.”

* * *

She takes them through all the details in the first empty briefing room they can find. A copy of the security footage serves as a visual aide to this. 

“So they break in, go straight to the back room, and never come out?”

“And that’s not even the weirdest thing about it.” Rose points to the paused video, at the door in the corner. “No sign of damage on the door lock. They had the code to it, but not to the store itself.”

“So an inside job of some kind?”

“A bad one if they only had the one code, but it’s the best guess we have,” she says. “What we’re trying to figure out now is what they would need from there. A normal theft is out of the question, and there is nothing in the back room. We checked and double checked, and there are only footprints that can be traced to a third of all the shoes in the city, if not the country. They lead nowhere but in. Then they end.”

“Nowhere but in,” Sorey mutters to himself. He thinks. 

“A secret door somewhere?”

“Looked for it already,” Rose says. She clearly had the same thought. “Unless they found a way to hide it in solid concrete, nothing.”

“A portal,” Mikleo says suddenly. 

They both turn to stare at him, incredulous. 

“A portal?” Rose frowns. “Like a real life portal? Now?”

“It makes sense as an explanation,” Mikleo says. He glances between them, to all appearances unnerved by the sudden attention. 

“I get that it is,” Sorey says, “but what she means is that no one has been able to open a portal anywhere for centuries. They have not been a thing since the war. How would these demons figure it out now?”

Mikleo looks down, thinking. Then something flashes in his eyes. An idea. Sorey waits expectantly. 

However, it seems that Rose has not noticed, because she asks, “Why would demons need a portal anyway? Where would they go?”

Bur Sorey is seeing an actual expression, if not strong emotion, on Mikleo’s face. The angel looks paler, his eyes wider than normal. Sorey feels his heart sink. 

“You know something about this,” he says. “Don’t you?”

“I can’t say for sure that I do,” Mikleo says. 

“But you think so.” Sorey leans closer to him, earnest. “Mikleo, we need to know.”

He sees the conflict in the angel’s eyes. Rose watches them both with newfound confusion. 

“What is going on here?” she asks. 

“Mikleo, you said you wanted me to be safe,” Sorey says. “This is how. Let us know and we can do something about it.”

“I highly doubt that,” Mikleo says, but his voice is smaller now. Whatever he has realised has really shaken him. “But I will tell you. It is part of the reason I was sent here.”

Neither Rose nor Sorey say anything. They hardly dare to breathe for Mikleo changing his mind. 

“Yes?”

Mikleo draws a deep breath and sighs. That, too, makes him look oddly human. Perhaps, Sorey thinks, he is beginning to actually settle into his vessel. Sorey has little idea of how the connection between angel and vessel works, but there have certainly been more expressions on Mikleo’s face today than when he first showed up. 

“A month before I was sent here, the Oracle received a message from the queen of Hell.”

That sentence alone is enough to set Sorey’s head spinning, but he does not interrupt. Rose is making a face as though the angel has suddenly grown another head. Mikleo continues. 

“As you know, the war was not her doing, but that of one of her generals.”

They do know this. There have been theories abound in all of the history books Sorey has read, but none have ever been able to really pin it on her. Instead it was general Symonne who was charged with the responsibility and eradicated at the end of the war. Velvet of Hell never even showed her face on Earth, and was never recorded as part of the conflict. 

“She informed the Oracle that a high ranking general from the war had broken free of her prison, and that she was now missing. She warned us that she may take to the surface to escape.”

The surface being Earth, where she would be outside Hell’s jurisdiction. He would marvel at the resilience of such a demon were it not for the anger that now clouds his thoughts. 

“Why wasn’t anyone on Earth told?” Rose asks, outraged. It mirror’s Sorey’s intentions. 

“Because the Oracle knew that Heaven would have to get involved.” Mikleo sighs again. “He could not risk humanity turning us away to fight the demon themselves. So a plan was formed, and losses were counted and accepted.”

“What kind of losses?” Sorey asks. Mikleo’s gaze flickers. 

Sorey tries to temper his anger and asks sternly, “Mikleo, what were they going to do?”

“Holy fire.”

A silence that feels like a two tonne weight settles over them. At first, neither Rose nor Sorey can find words for that. Then, suddenly, Rose does. 

“They were going to burn the Earth?”

“Not all of it,” Mikleo says, as though that makes it any better. “This demon could destroy both Heaven and Earth if she wants it. For the elimination of this threat, a city would be a small price.”

“And asking forgiveness would be easier than getting permission,” Sorey finishes. Mikleo nods. 

“But all of Heaven’s generals did not agree with this. Another plan was settled on, a preliminary mission, and I was chosen to carry it out. I’m here as the alternative.”

This is too much to take in at once. Sorey sits back in his chair and shakes his head, unable to fully believe it. 

“So you’re the only thing keeping us from being burned alive?”

Mikleo hesitates, then gives another curt nod. 

“It would appear so.”

Another silence. Rose sputters quietly. Sorey thinks. 

“Which demon is it?”

Both Mikleo look at him, and Rose looks as though she is going to yell, which Sorey understands. This is an outrage, and should be reported onwards at once, but he is beginning to wonder about something. An idea that has sat in the back of his mind since yesterday when Mikleo handed him a cursed knife, the likes of which he had never seen before. 

“It is general Maltran,” Mikleo says quietly. “I think you know her from the war.”

Maltran. Hell’s armourer. One of the most prolific warriors in the war. Merciless killer of thousands, human and angel alike. Suddenly, deep down, Sorey can admit that he understands why the Oracle would react the way he did. He has never been known for his restraint when he deems something necessary, and this - stopping and possibly killing her - is necessary. 

But another thought clicks together with this information, like a piece into a puzzle in his head. 

“The knife,” he says. “There are more like it, aren’t there?”

Mikleo looks at him, and once again his face has gone carefully blank. Only now, Sorey can see that it takes a bit of effort. 

“What knife?” Rose asks, and Sorey realises at once that they got so caught up in the conversation that he forgot for a moment that Rose is there. He opens his jacket and pulls out the knife, showing it to her. 

“Mikleo tells me it’s cursed, that it can kill angels.”

She takes it from him and turns it over in her hands. 

“Where did you get it?”

“The Scattered Bones,” he says. As expected, she looks horrified. 

“The Bones attacked you?”

“They tried,” Sorey says with a glance at Mikleo that comes off as oddly fond. 

“Sorey, you need to be more careful. If the Bones are after you-”

“I’ll lay low,” he assures her. “I know how dangerous they are.”

At his prompting gesture, she hands him back the knife and he sheathes it safely in his jacket. Then he turns back to Mikleo. 

“No one has ever seen anything like it before,” he says. “I checked. And now, when Maltran is back, they’re suddenly in the hands of humans.” It sits snugly against his chest, as though he is smuggling it. “She’s using portals to smuggle them from Hell to the surface.”

Mikleo’s voice is low, as though he does not want to speak but forces himself to do so. 

“That is my theory, yes.” 

“Is she aiming to start another war?”

Mikleo shakes his head. “I don’t know. I only knew that she might be here.”

“And you were going to stop her alone if she was?”

Mikleo looks up, surprised, and too much so to hide it completely. Sorey can see it clearly in his eyes, and he wonders when it became simple for him to do so. 

“I was going to find the source of the smuggling and cut it off,” Mikleo says slowly, uncertainly. “Then I was to call in reinforcements if I found her.”

“And the ensuing fight would take the city with it anyway.”

“No,” Mikleo insists, cutting sharply into Sorey’s words. “The plan is to draw her out, fight her in a place where no humans get caught in it. That is why I am here and not a rain of fiery comets.”

They stare at him, unsure of what to think. He seems to fumble for words, honestly fumble, for a moment. 

“Heaven is interested in keeping the peace. I wasn’t lying about that. I swear it to you.”

“We have to tell Boris and the prime minister,” Rose says firmly. Mikleo tenses immediately. 

A knock at the door interrupts any reply Sorey might have.

“Sup,” officer Bentley says, smiling. He taps a stack of papers lightly against the door frame. “Don’t let me interrupt. I’m just here to tell you that there’s a message in for you, Sorey.”

He walks into the room and hands Sorey a note with neat, cursive text. Printed, not handwritten. 

“It’s been fingerprinted and there’s nothing on it, detective Zaveid said to bring it to you right away. Sorry to interrupt.”

He then turns and walks back out, leaving the three of them in stunned silence. 

Sorey looks down at the note. It denotes a time and place. The meeting is today, this afternoon. 

Rose and Mikleo look at him expectantly. He draws a deep breath, steeling himself for the inevitable reaction. 

“We tell Boris,” he says, “but not the minister, and not Heaven yet.”

Rose sputters like he expects her to, and he barely stops her from yelling by saying, “The Oracle is already on edge, and we don’t want him any more trigger happy than he already is. If we blow up the hen house now, we’re just going to make it worse.”

“You can’t be serious,” Rose says. 

“Mikleo says that Heaven wants to keep the peace,” Sorey says. “We can figure out how to do that if we just take a moment to think.”

She glares in disbelief. He sighs. 

“Look, it’s better if we try. If Heaven has this hanging over us, they could just attack out of caution. It’s a better shot to try than to throw this to the wind and hope we don’t wake up on fire tomorrow.”

Rose stares, shaking her head and evidently still considering yelling. Then she stops and composes herself, breathing deep. 

“You better have a plan if I’m going to trust you on this,” she says. 

“Definitely,” Sorey says. “I want to try and salvage this.”

“I cannot lie to my superiors,” Mikleo says, and his voice is thin now. Sorey hopes against hope that he can make this work, that Mikleo will not destroy it. He has to try.

“There will be no lying,” he says. “Only some stalling. Please, Mikleo. You want to help, right?”

Mikleo opens his mouth, closes it. Then he sighs. 

“I do.”

“Then we’ll figure this out together. If it doesn’t work, we tell everyone. First, I need you to tell us everything you know about this.”

“I will,” Mikleo says resolutely. “Though it is not much beyond what you’ve heard already.” 

“Good. First, we need to confirm that it’s really Maltran smuggling the weapons. We have two solid-looking leads so far. Rose, you stick with the break-in. Look for any signs of a portal in the room where their footsteps end.”

“I’ll get forensics on it,” she agrees. “And you?”

Sorey holds up the note. 

“Mikleo sensed something about one of Selch’s contacts. We’ll go see if there’s anything off about her.”

He does not miss the look Mikleo gives him, but this one is hard to interpret. It looks oddly… soft? Like gratitude, maybe, but he hardly knows what for. 

“Right,” Mikleo says, and for the first time, Mikleo can see his wholehearted agreement. Sorey nods. 

“Then let’s go.”


End file.
